ed her, and then, like a flash, I saw
it was neither Peter nor her that stood between us, but my own evil
self. I told her all--that she was the victor and I the conquered. I
was proud of my new humbleness. For once I recognised myself and my
true place in the order of the world. But she knew me better than I
guessed, and she was afraid to tell me the truth. She put me off with
gentle words, terrified lest I should guess before I left her--Don't
turn away, Christopher--At last she owned she had written me a letter
and I should find it when I got back. Her attitude maddened me. The
better self, if it ever existed, got stamped out. I told her nothing
should come between us, that nothing short of death should keep me
from her, while I could move hand or foot."

The white scar on Aymer's forehead was very plain and his face had
grown thin and sharp. Christopher for the first time looked up at him
and away again.

"I went home at last, Christopher, wild to get this mysterious letter
to which she would refer me. I went back and took seven devils with
me--my passion and love fighting for possession. Nevil and I had a
room of our own on the ground floor. I think they use it for storing
papers in now."

Christopher gave a slight movement: he knew that well.

"I went straight in, knowing any letter for me would be taken there.
Nevil was going upstairs as I crossed the hall and he called to me
across the banisters that Wayband had sent back my revolver and he had
opened it. Revolver shooting was a passion just then and I was
accounted a crack shot. I answered him savagely and went on. The
letter lay on the table. She had been married to Peter two days before
at a Registrar's office. I felt I must have known it from eternity,
but it caught me on the crest of my fury, it overwhelmed me in a
torrent of mad shame and wild jealousy. I had failed--had been beaten
at my own game--beaten and fooled by some God who had used my passion
for his own ends. Those short minutes of purer love burnt my soul like
fire till I raged at my folly. Christopher, I'd give all I have left
to say I was mad. I wasn't. I knew what I was doing. The revolver lay
there on the table and an open box of cartridges by it. It was the
coward's way out of the agony, and I took it. I shot myself--the crack
shot of Waybands Club missed his own life by a hair's-breadth."

Even then, after the long years, Christopher caught an echo of
bitterness in the voice. He dull